


Remember Me (But Ah, Forget My Fate)

by FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Community: got_exchange, Deadly Premonition, F/M, Grief/Mourning, War Of The Five Kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2130969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/FairyQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt as though it had been a hundred years since Catelyn Stark last kissed her husband, last saw her children, last walked through the icy cold corridors of Winterfell. But the end was coming, and she could only hold on for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me (But Ah, Forget My Fate)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [averita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/gifts).



It felt as though it had been a hundred years since Catelyn Stark had left her home and ridden south. It felt as though it had been a hundred years since she last kissed her husband, last saw her children, since she last walked through the icy cold corridors of Winterfell, knelt down in her small sept to pray, looked out of the windows to watch the summer snows slowly and soundlessly fall from the sky. It felt as though it had been a hundred years since she last looked at her reflection in the water and saw herself smile. 

_If Ned could see me now,_ she thought and briefly closed her eyes, like she could blink away the image of her husband’s headless body — like that image wouldn’t haunt her once more as soon as night fell and she allowed herself to sleep… _If he could see me now, my own son’s prisoner in war, abandoning my children, my duties…_

It was the thought of her children that set her heart on fire and burned her from inside, the thought of Ned that seemed to tear her apart. Countless times had she prayed to the Mother to watch over her children, over her husband, to watch over those she loved, leagues and leagues away in Riverrun, and yet the Mother had never listened.

Dead. They were… 

Arya, dead. Bran, dead. Rickon, dead. Sansa, still held captive within the walls of the Red Keep, waiting for her… Ned, dead. Even her lord father, who had once seemed sheer indestructible to her, had slowly withered away, stricken by illness. They were dead, all of them, dead, and soon she would be, too. Only Robb was still standing — her sweet boy who had not yet seen his seventeenth name day and yet was long a man grown — to lead the North into victory and avenge his father’s death. 

She feared he was to die, too. 

The ravens seemed to whisper to her sometimes, seemed to whisper into her ear at night as though they were telling of the future; he would be shattered, and with him the last hope for justice to be served. Before long, they all would be laid in earth, with no one to remember, no one to carry on the name of Stark. Before long, they all would be forgotten and only their fate would be commemorated, a fate that had befallen them through nothing but a woman’s folly. 

Perhaps she had sentenced them all to death. Perhaps she was at fault that they… 

Nearly silently she gasped for breath, let herself give in to the trembling of her body for barely a split second, but soon she regained her composure, shaking her head in disdain. What had become of her, fierce and proud Lady Catelyn Tully? What had the war done to her, what had she done to herself? 

Soon, it would be over. Soon, the pain would cease. Soon she, too, would leave this world and perhaps in death she would find peace at last. Perhaps in death she would be reunited with those she had once lived for, those who had so cruelly been taken from her, those she had left in the foolish belief that she would return and thus had never bid them her farewell. 

Catelyn would gladly give her own life to buy what even the darkest magic seemed incapable of buying, to buy her husband and her children’s lives, to buy Sansa’s safety and her son’s victory over all those he were still to fight against, to buy peace, if only it were possible. She would gladly give her life, would gladly sacrifice herself to put an end to the suffering that seemed to be endless. 

Her thoughts trailed back to Ned. What she wouldn’t give to look once more into his beautiful eyes… 

His kiss still burnt on her lips. She could still taste him if she closed her eyes, could still hear his voice resound within her ears, further and further away with every day passing. She had long ceased to care about her own life, had lost too much to… If only she had given her life in place of Ned, in place of Arya, of Bran, of Rickon… If only her death were able to guarantee Robb’s safety… How soon would she throw herself into the Trident, to become one with the river? 

How tired she was of being strong, and how much she desired to allow herself to fall, to allow herself to weep whenever she could sense the tears moistening her eyes and face. Grief was suffocating her with its grip, but yet she could not give in. How much she desired to, though. How much she wished to allow herself to be weak… And yet honour forbade her to fall, even seemed to forbid her to grieve. 

The end was near. She could feel it, could feel it deep inside of her, could hear Ned quietly calling out for her… The end was near. Soon, it would be over. Soon, she would be forgotten, soon everything would be over, soon everything would be forgotten… If only they would forget her fate, too. If only death would take away her own memory... But she knew that it was impossible. Knew that she would never… 

Would he still remember her, if they were reunited now? Would Ned remember her, would her father remember her? Or her brother… Young and handsome Ser Edmure Tully, who were to wed a Frey on the morrow, would he recognise her if he came to her tent at this moment, not expecting her to be awake? Would he be able to still see his sister in the woman kneeling there on the floor in the darkness, tears flowing down her face incessantly as she silently, desperately attempted to pray to the Gods she long believed had abandoned her? 

Catelyn had not bothered to brush her tears away, yet now she wearily raised her hand, allowing it to sink down only a moment later; it seemed as though her composure was crumbling down on her at last, and she gave herself to the darkness, her body shaken by dry and soundless sobs. From far away she could hear the ravens cry, as though they were delivering a message only for her to be heard. 

Death was coming. Death was coming for them all, soon; soon everything would be over. And when the Long Night fell, they would be gone.


End file.
